Julain Gretian, King of the Affiliated Empire of Gretian, strode through the grand halls of the United Imperial Palace. This was the meeting place and center of power for the Ten Thousand Empires. Created over 300,000 years ago, in the Empire’s heyday. It was one of the oldest structures in this part of the Starry Sea. Of course, it was. The Ten Thousand Empires was one of the oldest alliances known to man. Older than their neighbors, older than the nations that came before them.

Julian held a great deal of pride in his own Empire, but his attitude toward the Empires had soured in the last thousand years. Really, the last 50,000 years had been rough, but the last thousand was reaching the breaking point.

The Empires were widely known for the complex politics that existed between the multitude of member states. Incessant meetings to discuss border disputes and respond to duel requests of trade agreements plagued Julain’s life. He was on his way to a meeting right now! The petty politics had been much of the Empires undoing in recent times.

Just before entering the Grand Gathering Hall, Julian stopped to look at a glass case set in a position of prominence and honor which held a worn piece of blood-red cloth. Walking by, one could not help but have their eyes drawn to it. He sighed. If only he had been able to see its creation, to have lived in the Empire’s glorious youth.

Back in the beginning, the Ten Thousand Empires was but three islands that had formed a non-aggression pact, sealed in blood. A shrouded with the Domain of Blood worked with one of Binding to make the Oath of Rulers. An artifact created from a monster-generated object and rare ethers that still stood as the foundation of the Empires today. An artifact that very much resembled a bloody scrap of paper.

Those that placed their blood on this cloth were bound to any promises made to others who had done the same. Those who even attempted to subvert their word would die a painful and graphic death. It was on the Oath of Rulers that the Ten Thousand Empires was built. How else could the powerful and arrogant men and women, kings and queens in their own right, work together in good faith?

With this artifact as their base, the leaders of those three islands had rapidly expanded their influence. It was amazing, the miracles that could be done when one did not have to worry about a knife in their back. Co-operation was a beautiful thing, and the three Founders had used it to its utmost, swearing vows of mutual support and brotherhood to each other. Open-ended and highly restrictive oaths. For they would have to truly act in each other’s best interests to avoid the penalty of the Oath of Rulers.

Of course, such things could not last forever. Eventually, two of the three Founders fell, leaving all their claimed territory and land to the final member. The one today known as the Founding Emperor. He alone held the place of highest honors among the member states. His campaigns of conquering and subjugation were legendary. Especially because some of the most powerful Empires and Kingdoms in the Ten Thousand Empires had joined under his reign. Alas, he had started his true reign near the end of his life. He stood at the pinnacle for only a thousand years before his death. The populace thought he had died valiantly, fighting the Great Gods at the edges of the Starry Sea. He did not. The Founding Emperor had died of shroud rupture, his power outgrowing his limits. An ignoble death, and one not suiting such a powerful figure, in Julian’s opinion.

But he was not here to reminisce about glory days he had not even seen. Instead, he was here to discuss the Tournament of Powers that had been called, following some interesting and troubling rumors that flowed from that upstart neighbor of theirs, the Central Authority. Such an ostentatious name for a nation with not even a third the history of the Empires.

Julian had to admit that he couldn’t begrudge the CA some of its undue swagger. That nation had taken the lands of many Affiliated Empires and Kingdoms when it arose from the ashes of the Night Watch Kingdom that came before it. The death of a leader often spelled the end of a kingdom, but the Night Watch’s end had been particularly violent. The CA that rose up after was almost three times the size and twice as annoying. Especially considering how much of that new bulk was drawn from the Empires.

Many Affiliated Nations viewed the CA with a deep loathing for those losses. Personally, Julain was not so antagonistic. His Empire was far from that border, and he had enemies among the kingdoms that did. A strong CA made them weaker, a good proposition in his mind.

Which made the stories of chaos and rising unshrouded troubling. This Tournament of Powers, called almost exclusively to place more pressure on the CA and scout their weaknesses, was not necessarily to his benefit. In previous meetings, he had been pushing, along with other like-minded rulers, for a more neutral stance on the CA.

His position was not groundless. Their advancements in ethertech made them a valuable nation. However, the policies that had caused such growth were distasteful to almost all rulers among the Empires. It was better to let their neighbors deal with such inconvenient policies and simply buy their grand technologies rather than upend their nations to do the same. A well-reasoned argument that had slowed much of the aggressive pushing from the pro-conquering faction.

If only they would give up entirely. Julian had no desire to see his enemies gain the CA’s lands. It would be far too much of a headache. Rather, he would prefer they stagnated, pushed up against a powerful foreign neighbor. It made it difficult for them to turn their armies inward and battle across the Empires.

Entering the Grand Gathering Hall, Julian suppressed the uncomfortable shiver that attempted to crawl up his spine as his aura was suppressed and his shroud confined. The Hall was a room of highly vaulted ceilings, with a round table as the centerpiece. And jutting from the center of the table was the cause of his discomfort.

A glaive which appeared to contain the same views as the Starry Sea itself. The Emperor’s Blade. An artifact wielded by the Founding Emperor as he conquered across the Starry Sea. With it he slew many Thrones and subjugated even more. It had rested here, in the Grand Gathering Hall, ever since his passing. Nothing could be more secure than a place where no shroud could truly work. No room more conducive to civilized discussion than one where all were equally suppressed.

It was daunting, no matter how many times he experienced it. Still, Julian could not help but recognize the brilliance in its placement. Personally, he knew he’d agreed to several deals only because he could not even contemplate violence in the presence of the Emperor’s Blade.

And, of course, those that strove against the interest of the collective met their end with that glaive. He had seen it three times in his tenure as an Affiliated Emperor. An execution was a rare thing, as it required a three-fifths vote in favor by all Affiliated Nation leaders. Something so many would agree on was rare indeed. Those that had fallen were proven to be directly conspiring with foreign powers, an unacceptable crime.

Many Emperors, Empresses, Kings, and Queens were already present. This was a matter that affected the whole Empires, so it behooved them to appear. All-out war with a neighbor had not happened for millennia. Only small skirmishes to blood their warriors and refine their knights. Separating the wheat from the chaff, as it were. Indeed, these last thousand years had been especially peaceful. A fact that Julian generally detested, as his borders had not grown. He was starting to feel antsy. Conquest was a heady thing.

Taking his own seat, Julian perused his fellows. Many a familiar face, as there were few nations in the Empires he did not have at least a passing knowledge of. Only the attendants catering to them were unknown. Julian frowned. A cloaked figure stood beside one of the four entrances to the Grand Gathering Hall. Covering one’s face in the Hall was rude, at the very least.

Glancing about, he noticed several other similarly garbed individuals. How strange. Julian felt a burning desire to extend his aura senses and observe the cloaked individuals more closely, but the Emperor’s Blade was impassable. Ultimately, Julian ignored the rude people. Most likely, they were knights some of his fellows had developed in secret, brought to observe this meeting and glean insights into the Tournament they would no doubt be participating in. A cheap tactic, but not unheard of. Though most wore elaborate masks instead of cloaks. After all, such a common garment looked shabby, whereas the masks were ornate and cried the knight’s elevated statue for all to see.

It was not long before all the members had arrived. Julian was mildly impressed. Every seat was filled, all the leaders were here. Not the most rare occurrence, but one worth noting.

There was a deep, base-filled gong that echoed through the Hall, and the meeting began.

It was a boring meeting, for the most part. Necessary, as it was to decide how the Empires would collectively approach the Tournament and their continued assessment of the CA’s defenses. Several members of Julain’s own faction, who were against an all-out invasion, spoke at length. As did members of the pro-invasion faction. This group was mainly those that bordered the CA, to no one's surprise.

Finally, an interesting topic arose.

“I have new information on the Central Authority’s current circumstances.” A hand was raised, and a loud voice rang out. Attention rapidly shifted. The speaker was Harmon Vatrel. A young young King from the Vast Kingdom. A broken old land that’s name was almost a cruel joke. Once the largest of the many Empires and Kingdoms in the Ten Thousand Empires, most of it had fallen with the rise of the CA.

The young man seemed to exult under the attention of the many rulers waiting for his words. “I’m sure most of you are aware of the Revolution group that has formed within the CA.”

Julian was unaware of such a thing.

“It was formed roughly fifty years ago, composed of unshrouded.”

Ah, that explained it. Who would care about such a group?

“They have access to highly advanced ethertech. Their actions have done only minor damage to the CA until recently. I have brought with me a man to testify about their actions.” Harmon gestured, and one of the cloaked figures glided across the room to stand at his shoulder.

Throwing back his hood, Julian felt a bolt of surprise travel down his spine. The man was no man. He was some form of mechanical creation, with a flat metal face and eyes of glass and light. The gasps around the room echoed his sentiments as less reserved members voiced their shock.

Again, the King of the Vast Kingdom seemed to revel in their surprise. “This is an etherman, created by the Revolution. An artificial being. Through it, their leader will speak with us.”

“Hello, Kings, Queens, Emperors, and Empresses.” A strangely warped voice came from the metal man. “I come to you to tell of what we have done. The CA has been scarred and damaged. Laid low. An easy target for ones such as yourselves.”

“What is this nonsense?” One of the rulers yelled. Julian did not see which.

“No nonsense, only truth. We have devised weapons which can lay low any shrouded. Weapons we wish to supply to you.”

Julian’s eyes widened in comprehension. This…thing…was a weapons merchant.

“King Harmon, what do you propose by bringing this thing here?” A calm voice spoke. David Atrock, the leader of the anti-war faction. Julian’s faction.

“I propose we use these new weapons. The members of the CA’s Council will be at the Tournament, along with many leaders. I propose we turn it into a deathtrap and destroy all opposition.” His smile contained a naked, open greed and avarice. One that Julian could appreciate, even if he disagreed with it.

“A vote, then.” David clarified.

Harmon nodded.

There was much mumbling and side talk. This was a bold new plan. One that held potential but also risk. Attacks at the Tournament of Powers were not unknown. Indeed, they were considered overdone in some sections of the Starry Sea. Eventually, the vote began. Obviously, Julian and David voted against, along with the rest of their faction. It was a plan that gained them very little.

Julian was gratified to see that they had won by a narrow margin. Looking to Harmon, he was confused. The young man’s smile had not faded.

“I see; it is a shame. So many are against the future of the Empires. How disappointing.” The raw malice in his words raised alarms within Julian’s mind.

Too late.

Another cloaked figure exploded across the room. Its speed matched the very best among them. Landing in the middle of the table, it threw aside the cloak. Seeing the thick gauntlets of blood red and bright white metal, Julian despaired. The Hands of the Emperor. The only things capable of holding the Emperor's Blade.

The glaive of the Founding Emperor was wrenched from its place.

The following minutes were filled with blood and despair. In the end, Julian Gretian, Emperor of the Empire of Gretian, lost his head to the Emperor’s Blade, along with many others. The last sound he heard was King Harmon’s laughter.